I wonder what it's like being you. I feel sort of singular just even working in the very building where it all happened. Not many buildings in America have been befouled in such a thorough manner. But to be the actual individual who did the befouling must cause you to feel an enormous amount of distinction.
I've been picturing it all weekend. I imagine you middle-aged, average height, average weight, wearing a floral dress, as according to the description our IT guy gave to the police. You were just passing our building when you realized the ass-explosion of your life was less than a second away. Unfortunately for you, our front lobby is basically a dead end if you don't already know where you're going, so I can only imagine the horror you must have felt when you ran in the front door expecting to find a bathroom close at hand and found nothing but a bunch of unwelcoming, unlabeled doors (of all the buildings you could have chosen!). But by that time, it was too late, as the mess in our entryway suggested.
So you ran for a random door (our lunchroom, thank you very much), lost some in there, continued out the back of the lunchroom toward the mail room hallway, where you experienced even more looseness of the bowels, and then bolted back out the way you came. Our staff only caught fleeting glimpses of you as you streaked across the street and into the park.
Had you awoken that morning expecting to have a normal day, looking forward to weekend?
I was horrified when I first heard. I prayed for you not to commit suicide or have to hide in an alley until nightfall when you could attempt to slink home unseen. I wanted to bring you water. You must have been almost 100% dehydrated after all that. It wasn't until about ten hours later that I really started to find the whole thing funny.
I wouldn't feel guilty about laughing at you if you were a horrible bitchy person that treated people like absolute crap (ironically); or, in the opinion of my boyfriend, if you were a "habitual building shitter." But most likely you are just a normal person who found yourself in a sticky wicket in the worst way possible.
So I wanted to give you a message of encouragement: in rural India, this is not so abnormal, if you decide to move there. I was just reading last week about how they want to impose on any politician running for office the requisite of having a toilet at home, because apparently public defecation is common practice there and they see this new rule as a way of curbing the problem. So I'm just saying, if I was you, I'd probably want to move, and India might be a place to consider.
-- Dikran
